


The Experiment

by Irollforinitiative



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Experimentation, M/M, New Relationship, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-31
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-02 19:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irollforinitiative/pseuds/Irollforinitiative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Within the course of one week both Sherlock and John's lives are forever changed. In a fit of boredom, Sherlock conducts his first social science experiment to discover the nature of his feelings towards John.  After the swift conclusion of Sherlock's experiment, John ends up having to conduct an experiment of his own.  Fluffy at first slashy in the end.</p><p>RATING INCREASED TO BE SAFE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monday

Sherlock rolled off the couch with a resounding thud. He pressed his face into the floor, feeling the cold wood in a strip against his cheek where the rug and edge of the couch didn’t quite meet. With a large sigh he raised his head only to allow it to fall back to the floor. He was bored. Aggressively so. Consumingly so. Frankly he hadn’t been this bored since long before Moriarty had come around. He didn’t wish the psychopath to be alive again. He’d spent six months running around the nation as well as the globe to make sure that not only was Moriarty dead, but so were his greatest supports. Then there had been the months of reintegration into society and contradicting Morairty’s defamation of his name. That coupled with the tedious process he had to go through with all of his previous acquaintances to prove his continuing life as well as his regret at having to feign death meant that the past three months of his life had been anything but boring. But John had forgiven him and life at home had returned to normal. And Lestrade had forgiven him so he was working again. And the media had forgiven him so he had returned to being blissfully ignored. And now, at 10 in the morning on a Monday, he found himself without anything to do or think about for the first time in over a year. 

No case to ponder. No arch-enemy to track. No social interactions to meticulously plan so as to not misstep. He was bored. It physically hurt. His mind slipped from one idea to the next, desperate for something to cling to, a whirling torrent of words and flashes of color. It made him feel sick to his stomach. This was why he did experiments. It gave him something to, at least partially, focus on. But John had forbidden it. It was a part of their deal. Sherlock had left him alone for six months, allowing him to think that his best friend and flatmate was dead. Therefore, for six months John got to call the shots. The first two rules were a.) Sherlock buys the milk and b.) No experiments. 

He lifted his head and let it fall to the floor again before flopping his arm onto the coffee table. He groped about blindly before finally finding his phone and bringing it down to eye level. He typed out his message:  
-John. –SH

Glaring at the phone for not immediately offering a response, Sherlock began to knowingly act childish.  
-John. –SH  
-John. –SH  
-John! –SH  
-John! –SH

On the other side of town John felt the phone in his pocket buzz as he leaned on the counter at the nurse’s station, chatting with the new nurse. She was sweet and cute and really his type. He hoped that by Thursday he’d have the courage built up to ask her out for dinner on Friday. He ignored the phone’s first three buzzes, but when it continued he stopped mid-sentence and tried to smile in an attractive manner. 

“Sorry, Cherie. My phone is about to vibrate out of my pocket. It might be important. I should go deal with it.” She just batted her eyelashes and nodded. Blushing a little at her attractiveness, John turned and retreated into his office. Once he was seated in his soft office chair he pulled out his phone to see that every 30 seconds he was receiving another text from Sherlock. That kind of repetition could only mean one thing. It was either very important, or very not important at all. He sighed and responded:  
-Dear lord what?! –JW

He didn’t used to sign his texts with his initials but Sherlock always did and it had, somehow, gotten him in the habit. It also didn’t help that because of their line of work they were regularly texting one another from or to unknown numbers. It was always better to sign the text. Just in case. He didn’t even have time to set his phone down before it buzzed again. 

-Bored. –SH  
-So? What am I supposed to do about it? Go get a case or something. –JW  
-None. Already checked. Bored John…BORED! –SH  
-Well what am I supposed to do about it? –JW  
-If I promise to blow nothing up can I do an experiment? –SH  
-Sherlock, the only way I’ll agree to letting you do an experiment is if there are literally no physical components to it. –JW

John smiled smugly. That would entertain him for at least a little while, trying to think of a way to make an experiment where he didn’t have to have any items or equipment in the flat. Sherlock glared at his phone when he read the text. It seemed John was going to be tricky. Sherlock closed his eyes and entered his mind palace to search for an experiment that required no physical components. The only thing he could think of would be a social science and those tarnished the name of science when they were called such. Suddenly his eyes flew open. In the back of the room labeled ‘Personal Tedium’ there was a messy filing cabinet. It was overflowing with data points and had never been examined. On the front of the cabinet was a label reading ‘Weird Feeling Type Things Between Myself and John’. He smiled wickedly. He needed more data before he could close that file and it would certainly keep him entertained. Standing up off the floor where he had been lying on his back he sent a text off to John.  
-Social sciences. They are hardly science, but they require no equipment. I will conduct a social experiment. –SH  
-Into what and using whom? –JW

John was staring at his phone, fear in his eyes. The thought of Sherlock performing experiments on people, even if it was only supposed to be observation, was a terrifying one. Sherlock’s response was immediate.  
-Dating. I’ve attempted it never discovered its purpose. Instead of performing a ‘hands on’ experiment as I have before I wish to take a new tactic and interview those around me to ascertain the nature of the beast. –SH

Sherlock shrugged at his phone. It was certainly a better and easier to accept response than “I’m fairly certain we both want to shag one another and I need to find out why.” John’s response took almost a full minute to arrive. He must have been pondering it.  
-Fine. –JW

John truly dreaded the idea of Sherlock experimenting on people, but it was better than blowing up the flat and, in all honesty, he wasn’t ready to relinquish the small bit of agency in his own life that Sherlock had returned to him by agreeing to abide his will for six months. He shook his head and put his phone away. At least he said he would only be dealing with people he already knew. That would, hopefully, prevent him from saying anything to too terrible. John was about to call in the next patient when his phone buzzed again. He picked it up and read the message.  
-Are you still dating that tedious secretary? –SH  
-No she dumped me last week. Said I never had time for her. Why? –JW  
-My research. I’ll need her phone number. –SH  
-I’m not giving you her number! –JW  
-Fine, I’ll call Mycroft and get it. –SH  
-Okay, okay. Let me just warn her first. It’s written in my address book in my bedroom. Okay? –JW  
-Thanks. –SH

John quickly sent a text to Sasha.  
-Hi, it’s John. I’m sorry and I know I shouldn’t be bothering you. But, my wanker flatmate who experiments all the time? Yeah he’s going to text you today because he’s doing some damned experiment. I can literally do nothing to stop him. Only warn you. Sorry. –JW

He didn’t wait for a response. She wouldn’t respond. She hated him. Odds were that she wouldn’t even respond to Sherlock. The poor woman had been the first person he’d dated since Sherlock...did his whole death thing. He met her a month after Sherlock was back so the poor woman had to put up with him being even more likely than usual to run off to Sherlock’s aid during dates. One of these days he was going to ask himself why he did that. That day wasn’t today, though. So he called in his next patient. 

Sherlock received John’s last text as he had begun to type Sasha’s number into his phone, having already fetched and read John’s address book. He scoffed at the fact that John felt the need to give him permission to go through his things. Then Sherlock felt a sudden and foreign pang of guilt. He took so much advantage of John’s good nature. If he was going to attempt to pursue a thesis of having romantic feelings towards John, respecting him would be a good place to start. Suddenly he shook his lip and curled his head, throwing John’s address book on the bed instead of putting it away. No. Altering his behavior would be illogical and temporary. Should his hypothesis be correct then John would have to accept him as he was. Just for good measure, and because he disliked the fleeting guilt he had just experienced, he glared at the books on John’s bedside table and reached over to knock them to the floor. He flounced out of the room and back downstairs to the couch, texting Sasha. 

-It’s John’s flatmate Sherlock. I wish to ask you questions about how terrible a boyfriend John was. –SH  
-I wasn’t going to respond…but if I get to talk about him being a shit boyfriend, fine.  
-Thank you. First question; did you engage in sexual acts together? –SH  
-Past kissing? No. Almost did once but you bloody texted and he ran off.  
-Two; Why did your relationship ultimately fail? –SH  
-Bloody you, that’s why. He would rather have been there buggering you than getting off with me.  
-Three; How did he treat you when you were dating? –SH  
-Well enough but he used to look off into space for a bit and smile and then he’d always look back at me and frown a little. Like he was disappointed I was the one he was on a date with.  
-Finally; How did you know you wished to pursue a relationship with him? –SH  
-He made me laugh, made me happy, he’s attractive. I don’t know. I just sort of…felt like I could spend a lot of time with him and really enjoy it.  
-Thank you, Sasha. You have been extremely helpful. –SH  
-One quick thing. Why the questions?  
-I’m conducting an experiment. –SH  
-You bloody love him don’t you? That’s what it’s about isn’t it.  
-I am attempting to ascertain that via this experiment. –SH  
-Ah. Well…good luck. 

Sherlock didn’t respond again. He was too busy mentally cataloguing the new data with the old. After an hour of pondering he realized there was one issue with is data. He did not know the definition of the word ‘buggering’. There were contextual clues, yes. But he needed something solid. He also needed to begin his experimentation with stimulus and response in John himself. Therefore, Sherlock picked up his phone and texted John.  
-John? What does buggering mean? –SH  
-What? Who said that to you? –JW  
-Sasha. She said you left your dates as you would have rather been ‘at home buggering me’. I need a definition. –SH  
-Google it, Sherlock. –JW

Sherlock glared at his phone. It was time for him to attempt flirtation. However, it could not be the acted flirtation he’d used in the few attempts he’d made at a relationship. It needed a certain genuity to it. Therefore, he opted to tell the truth but in a phrasing that was suggestive of deeper meaning.  
-I prefer it when you define terms for me. Much less having to sort through the rubble for the facts. –SH  
-Oh God. Fine. It’s when two men engage in…sexual acts…together…in an anal way. –JW  
-Thank you! See, much better than a search engine. I should copyright you and make a website for others to search things. Then you can quit the surgery and we can earn income through the copyright. I’ll call it MyJohn. –SH  
-MyJohn. I like the sound of that. –JW

John froze after hitting send and stared at his phone. The text itself was innocuous but the sentiments weren’t. It wasn’t that he liked the phrase. It was that he liked thinking of Sherlock saying it. John shook his head and shoved the thought away. Another thing for another day. Sherlock just grinned at his phone. It was true that he preferred to have John define things. However, the bit about MyJohn was purely intended to judge John’s reaction. It was neither negative nor romantically positive. That was, at least, a start. He spent the rest of the day staring into the ceiling, lost in thought. The sound of John coming up the stairs with one…no, two, bags of something is what finally drew him back to himself. He stood and picked up his violin, turning towards the window while he started to mindlessly play bits of various tunes. 

“Ya know, Sherlock, you could offer to help.” Sherlock turned and saw John struggling with two bags, one of take away and one of shopping. 

“If I help you you’ll never learn to do it on your own.” Sherlock repeated something that John had said to him on many occasions when he’d asked for help on menial tasks such as opening the peanut butter jar or folding his undershirts. John just looked up and glares. Sherlock put his violin down and lazily walked into the kitchen, taking up his food before returning to the sitting room and collapsing in his favorite chair. 

“How’d the experiment go today?” John gathered his food and sat in his own favorite chair opposite Sherlock’s. He does his best to ask the question passively but he is honestly curious. The idea of Sherlock being interested in studying romantic relationships seemed strange and almost foreign. 

“You know I don’t discuss experiments while they are ongoing.”

“Ah. Okay then.” They finished their meal in comfortable silence. It was normal, not talking. They did it most nights because Sherlock had something to think about and after a day of screaming children John could use some silence. Tonight is no different. After they finished eating John stood up and cleaned up the empty containers. After the debris from their meal was safely in the bin, John returned to the sitting room and flopped onto the couch, grabbing the remote and turning the telly on. As if on cue, Sherlock stood and began to walk to his own room. Unlike normal, however, Sherlock stopped on his journey and looked over his shoulder to John. 

“Goodnight, John.” John looked up, a bit startled. 

“Oh…Goodnight, Sherlock.” With that Sherlock disappeared into his room to ponder until sleep took him. John just shook his head and looked back to the telly. It seemed like it was a day for Sherlock to behave strangely. Maybe he was sick or something. After an hour or so John retreated to his bedroom to sleep.


	2. Tuesday

The next morning he found Sherlock asleep on the couch. It was fairly normal. Sherlock tended to wake up in the middle of the night and pace the flat or play violin until he fell back asleep wherever he was. Once John had found him sitting at the kitchen table, fast asleep. He shook his head and snuck out of the flat silently. Sherlock, however, was not asleep. The moment the door closed he raised his arms back to where they were and continued texting. During the night he found himself unable to sleep and instead of trying to distract himself he went to work. He opened John’s laptop which had been left on the table in the sitting room, and quickly tracked down Sarah’s number from informational emails form his work. Once it was 7:30 and he knew she would be awake and dressing for work he sent her a text. 

-This is John’s roommate Sherlock. I have some questions I would like to ask you and I would appreciate it if you would not inform John that I texted you. –SH  
-Sherlock? What is it? What’s wrong?  
-Nothing. I am conducting an experiment and I need information about you relationship with John. –SH  
-We dated long over a year ago…why do you want to know about that?   
-Science. –SH  
-My God you finally realized it didn’t you?   
-Realized what? –SH  
-That you’re entirely smitten with him.   
-I have no idea what you’re talking about. –SH  
-Sure you don’t. It’s mutual if that makes you feel any better.   
-You answering my questions would make me feel better. –SH  
-Fine. Ask away.   
-Did you and John engage in sexual acts together? –SH  
-Nope. Almost did once but he suddenly stopped and said he had to get home that you needed his help. His phone didn’t even ring though. That’s when I knew it was over.   
-That leads into my second question. Why did the relationship ultimately fail? –SH  
-Because he never thought about anything but you. It would have been sweet if I wasn’t trying to date him.   
-How did he treat you when you were dating? –SH  
-When he wasn’t trying to get me killed on our first date? Well enough. Not brilliantly.   
-Last question. How did you know you wished to pursue a relationship with him? –SH  
-He was so genuinely sweet and intelligent. I could see this devotion in his eyes and words and that was attractive. I guess he wasn’t devoted to me was all.   
-Thank you, Sarah. –SH  
-Good luck, Sherlock

Sherlock stared at his phone. He was not getting the information he needed. It seemed it would be time to interact with John directly. Sherlock huffed into the kitchen and wrenched open the cabinet where John kept his pork rinds and alcohol. It was known as “John’s cabinet”. Sherlock’s personal cabinet had caviar and vegemite in it. Both of them were, in general, disgusted by what the other kept in their personal food cabinet so, it was usually consumed alone and ignored by the other. Today Sherlock was going to break a flat rule and drink some of John’s alcohol. He set the bottle of Scotch whiskey on the table and grimaced at it. He would have preferred to drink wine. It was intoxicating but was not pure spirits. However, today he needed to become inebriated. With a sniff of distaste he poured one shotglass full of the liquid and, with one deep breath, drank it. He shuttered and exclaimed as it burned its way down his throat. Sherlock shook his head, willing the feeling to leave him. As he shook he realized his head was already feeling heavier. He was an admitted lightweight. A full glass of wine was usually far more than he could handle. 

Sherlock sniffed at the sudden presence of mucus in his nasal passages and lifted his phone to text John.   
-John, how does one tell if one is inebriated? –SH

John nearly choked on the sandwich he was eating. For a moment he stared at his phone as though it had just grown legs, stood up, and spat cider in his ear. With a utterance of disbelief under his breath he responded.   
-Why? Sherlock, are you drunk? –JW  
-Well now if you’d answer my question I’d know that, now wouldn’t I? –SH  
-Fine. Ocular laziness is a primary symptom. It will feel like your eyes are moving in slow motion. Once the hippocampus is reached you become uncoordinated, dizzy, sometimes nauseated. You’re upper brain functions shut down so everything moves slower including logic. That help? –JW  
-Indeed. It tells me I’m not drunk yet. –SH

Sherlock poured another shot and drank it quickly, pouring himself a third which immediately followed the second. He waited a few minutes for the alcohol to hit him before he texted back.   
-It what? Sherlock are you okay? –JW  
-Very. I’m now inebrrated. –SH  
-I can tell…why, may I ask, are you drinking at noon on a Tuesday? –JW  
-Science!! It demnands it. –SH  
-Okay just be careful. Text if you need anything. –JW

Sherlock put his phone in his pocket. He should lie down. He felt suddenly far too dizzy to stand. When he decided to lie down he dimly noticed his feet moving him towards the stairs. He went to John’s room and looked around confused for a moment before flopping onto the bed which was covered in clean laundry. John’s jumpers, even fresh from the wash, smelled like him. The purpose of drinking was to ‘drunk text’ John so Sherlock figured he might as well start. He retrieved his phone from the pocket of his dressing gown.   
-Why hte hell do your jumnpers smell like you even when theyre frehsly laundered? –SH  
-Ooh, we’re a bit sweary when we’re drunk, aren’t we? –JW  
-Fcuk you! Hahah yes. But anser. WHY?! –SH  
-Sherlock, are you sniffing my clothes? –JW  
-Yed. –SJ  
-Okay…I’m taking that as a yes. Why are you in my room at all? –JW  
-It snells like you in herw. I wanyed to smell it. Is comfortaing. –HS  
-Hah. Really? You’re rather drunk now aren’t you? –JW  
-Mmmhmmm. –SSH  
-Then answer me this; what is the experiment you’re performing? What is it exactly? Because you’re acting strangely. –JW  
-Feeeeeelings John. Feelings. Alll the frrrlings. My ferlings and yors too. Musy be mapped like Australia. –DH  
-What? –JW  
-I’m going to nap now. Splease stomp smelling so dood. Kay? –FJ  
-Good, sleep. Let me know you’re not dead when you wake up. –JW

John set his phone down and pulled his arm back like it might explode. It seemed that Sherlock was, at this very moment, in his bed sniffing his clean clothes and rambling on about something with feelings. John was entirely too baffled by it all to know what to make of drunk Sherlock. Maybe Sherlock was seeing how far he could push John before he snapped. That seemed altogether likely and depressingly in character for Sherlock. John shook his head and continued his day. It was three hours later when he received another text. 

-John! Emergency! I think I’ve been drugged. –SH

John jumped up from the paperwork he was doing at his desk and started to reach for his coat but suddenly stopped himself. Three hours ago Sherlock was extremely drunk. Now he claims he’s been drugged. There was only one viable explanation. The great Sherlock Holmes had a hangover.   
-You’re not drugged you have a hangover. –JW  
-I don’t remember anything past ingesting my second and third shot glass full of whiskey. Also all the past messages on my phone have been deleted. Ergo, drugged. –SH  
-Bloody hell you’re a lightweight. You were drunk and texting me. You must have deleted your own texts. Tonight you can read them off my phone if you need to-JW  
-That still doesn’t explain why I didn’t wake up in a standard location. –SH  
-Yeah, you’re in my damn bed. Apparently you think I smell good. –JW  
-Oh dear. I seem to be remembering more now. Please forgive my drunkenness. Failed experiment. –SH  
-Nothing to forgive. You were actually kind of cute. –JW

John made a face. Cute? Did he really just call Sherlock cute? He shrugged and set his phone back down. He wouldn’t worry too much. After all, he was a rather cute drunk. Sherlock just laughed mischievously at his phone then stopped as his head swam and pounded. It seemed that the failed experiment wasn’t failed after all. Sherlock had set out to flirtatiously and drunkenly text John. While he didn’t remember the particulars he hardly thought going on about sweaters would be seen as flirtations. However, John seemed to find it all cute. It was a step forward and another data point. Sherlock slunk downstairs in search of pain killers and water. Further experimentation would have to wait until tomorrow.


	3. Wednesday

John sat at his desk on Wednesday and, for the first moment that day, had the time to think. The night before had been fairly ordinary. But then, at the end of the night, Sherlock had told him goodnight again. It was an innocuous phrase but one that was entirely foreign to their dynamic. They existed like two halves of a whole when they were at home in Baker St, but they never spoke to it. It became a silent, singular entity and it was comfortable. But suddenly Sherlock was saying goodnight. It was as if he were acknowledging their closeness. Acknowledging that their lives were entirely intertwined. Acknowledging that they both actually cared about the happiness and wellbeing of the other. He shook the other thoughts threatening to bubble up out of his head. It was lunch and he was hungry. He didn’t have time to make a lunch that morning and he didn’t have time to leave so he started scrounging through his pockets for change for the machine when his phone went off. He sighed. It would be Sherlock. They always texted back and forth during the day but this week there had been a lot more than usual. And they were all so…strange. John sighed again and picked up his phone. 

-I made you lunch this morning. It’s in your bag. –SH

John gaped and opened his work bag. There, amongst the files and medical supplies that he carried in it, was a brown bag. He opened it and found a peanut butter and blackberry jam sandwich as well as an apple and some crisps. It was his favorite lunch to have at work. It was, perhaps, the sweetest thing Sherlock had ever done for him. John felt strangely. He pushed the feeling aside and texted back. 

¬-Wow…thanks. That’s…that’s really sweet actually. –JW  
-I heard you press the snooze on your alarm twice. You’re always late when you do that. Also there is currently a cold virus sweeping the local elementary schools so I knew you’d bee to busy to go out to lunch. Ergo, I made you lunch. –SH  
-Thank you, Sherlock. It means a lot to me that you would think that much about me. –JW  
-If it helps in the way you think of me, I just lit the microwave on fire. –SH  
-What?!-JW  
-I was microwaving you cologne since I no longer have a Bunsen burner and it lit fire. –SH  
-My cologne? Why did you decide to microwave my cologne?!-JW  
-Science. –SH  
-Bloody hell. I guess I’m relieved actually. Had you done something really sweet and NOT ruined it somehow I would have thought you were ill. –JW  
-I’ll get a new microwave today. –SH  
-We both know you won’t. I’ll order a new one online. Okay? Did you hurt yourself? –JW  
-No. I am fine. –SH  
-Why? Just tell me why? –JW

Sherlock set down the towel he had been using to put out the last of the flames and looked at his phone, willing it to advise him on what to do. If he explained his reasons it might give away the experiment. However, he was getting truly nowhere with things as they were. He steeled himself and replied. 

-I needed to ascertain why the cologne itself is pleasing enough, but when applied to you it becomes much more intoxicating in its scent. –SH

John glanced at his phone and chuckled. He had suspected he was the central subject of the experiment. Sherlock had such a hard time accepting that people were his friends. But, if an experiment helped then so be it. 

-Ah so I’m the subject. It’s okay, I don’t mind. Lemme know what you find out when you’re all done, kay? –JW

Sherlock paced the kitchen until John’s reply came in. He read it and walked to the couch, throwing himself upon it. Either John knew something Sherlock didn’t or he had entirely misread the type of experiment that was taking place. Either way, Sherlock had the data he needed, he just needed to interpret it. Closing his eyes he stretched out and began to work mentally, assessing all the information he had. 

Suddenly Sherlock sat upright and laughed. He heard a noise from the kitchen and John’s head popped out. 

“Good you’re awake. I brought dinner.” Sherlock looked to the windows. Darkness. His analysis must have taken longer that he thought it would have. He accepted the food from John and they ate in silence. When John reached to turn on the telly Sherlock stood and walked so that he was standing in front of John. John looked up inquisitively. 

“My experiment has concluded and I’m prepared to tell you the results.”

“Oh good. What are they?” John was smiling knowingly. 

“While I truthfully need nothing more than to remain your dearest friend for the rest of my days, you made me promise after the St. Bart’s incident that I would not omit things from you. Ergo, it is incumbent upon me to tell you that through my experimentation and examination of past data I have discovered that I am, irrevocably and homogeneously, in love with you. Please know that this catharsis on my part need have no influence on our status as friends. Goodnight John.” He swiftly walked out of the room before John could reply. Sherlock Holmes, was scared. It terrified him to realize the depth of his feelings for John, and while he truthfully desired for John to feel the same, his greatest fear was that John would reject him as a friend now. That would mean Sherlock would have no one and that was an unacceptable thought. He locked his door and sat on his bed. He did not like emotions. His phone buzzed and he looked at it. 

-Everything will be all right, baby brother. You did the right thing by telling him. –MH

Sherlock glared at his phone then picked it up and held it to his chest. He desired to hate his brother for meddling, but the knowledge that he wasn’t entirely alone without John made him feel like he used to as a child when Mycroft would come into his room and tell him stories when there were thunderstorms and Sherlock would get scared. He felt cared for. With this feeling tempering the fear he felt, he was able to lie down and go to sleep uncharacteristically early. John, however, still sat in his chair, plate of food in his lap, mouth open, in shock. 

Sherlock…loved him? A tiny voice in the back of his mind was saying ‘I knew it’ but the rest of his mind was blank and frightened. What did this mean for them? Would Sherlock want something more from him now? Was he willing to give it? Did he want to give it? John stood abruptly and set the remnants of his dinner on the kitchen table. Whiskey, he needed whiskey. Bottle in hand he fled to his room and took a deep drink from the bottle. He felt dizzy but it wasn’t the whiskey. It was because he was considering it. Straight, military, proper John Watson was considering dating his flatmate. The hell of it was it didn’t seem that scary. John ran another hand through his hair and groaned. He needed to be sure. He needed clarity. He needed to perform an experiment of his own. He took another long drink, finally feeling fuzzy from the drink and laid back. Tomorrow, he would text Sherlock about it tomorrow…maybe.


	4. Thursday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the updates have been sporadic. I should be finishing it soon.

Sherlock woke up hours after he normally did. He checked his phone but had only received another text from Mycroft while he’d slept. 

-You’ve got to talk to him. Otherwise things may never be the same. Trust me, baby brother. –MH

Sherlock glared slightly at his phone. Two texts in two days. Mycroft must be worried. He picked up his phone and, after a moment’s hesitation texted John. 

-It’s Thursday. Have you asked out the pretty new nurse yet? –SH

He knew about John’s plan to ask the woman out and decided that mentioning it was the best way to show that he was truly okay with John being straight and dating women. He hoped the message was received as it was intended. It wasn’t. Not really. John slammed a file down on his desk and responded.   
-No and you bloody know why. –JW  
-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. –SH  
-Well you did. Congratulations. –JW  
-I just wish for things to return to the way they were. Please. Forgive me. –SH  
-No because I don’t bloody well know if I want them to. –JW

Sherlock dropped his phone and stepped back, his heart racing. He snatched the device back up and re-read the text before responding.   
-What? –SH  
-You can read, you know what I said. It’s my turn now. I get to ask annoying questions and make no damn sense for a few days. I get to conduct an experiment. –JW  
-Okay. –SH  
-Right so question time. You ready? –JW  
-Yes. –SH  
-Why me? –JW

Sherlock looked at the floor. It would be John’s only question. He knew it would be. He had to answer it truthfully, as much as he disliked emotions, he had to for John. With a sigh he typed out his response.   
-The response is also a question. Why not? You are not blindingly brilliant. You should not be able to fully appreciate my abilities. And yet, you are the only person in my life who does not treat me like a sideshow. You treat me like a person. When others would criticize you support. When others would say “no” you say “why not”. The fact that you’re even considering this is a testament to why. You are questioning a truth in your life, for me. –SH  
-No further questions. –JW

Sherlock slumped to the couch and resumed wallowing in misery. He couldn’t let himself hope John would return his affections. It was statistically improbable. John sat at his desk across town and pressed his hand to his mouth. No doubt about his feelings. Nope. Those were there. Strong as could be. The only question became whether or not the gender issue mattered. He went off to tend to patients, knowing Sherlock would be wallowing but unsure of what to say to make it better. A few hours later he had an idea. 

-I’m guessing you didn’t sleep well last night. If it will help you sleep you can put my cologne on your pillow. I know you said you like the scent. –JW  
-I slept strange well, actually. However, I must decline because that would be very much like digging the prize out of a box of cereal without eating down to it. –SH  
-Are you implying what I think you’re implying? –JW  
-Probably. –SH

John’s eyes went wide. He thought Sherlock was implying that he only wanted John’s cologne on his pillow if it got there from John sleeping there…with him. He blushed a little at the thought. Sherlock did mean that. He grinned at his phone. About an hour before he had decided that if he was to be the subject of John’s experiment it would only skew the results if he remained pouty and sad. Instead he adopted the flirtatious manner that he had discovered within himself in the past week. He threw his phone onto the couch triumphantly, imagining the shock on John’s face. His reverie was interrupted by the sound of a voice clearing.   
Sherlock froze and began glaring before he turned fully. He knew that polite yet nosy little sound. Only Mycroft could simultaneously be so proper and yet so irritating. He glared even deeper when his eyes fixed on his brother. 

“What do you want Mycroft?” Mycroft stepped forward and acted surprised, he wasn’t. 

“Darling brother, can I not check up on you to assure that you are doing well?” Sherlock scoffed. 

“You don’t ‘check up’ Mycroft. You spy. Now out with it.” Mycroft sighed and leaned heavily on his umbrella. 

“I require your presence tonight. There is a gathering of dignitaries and not only has everyone requested the presence of my ‘famous, genius, brother’ but it is a ‘plus one’ event and…” Mycroft looked down and back up. He hated going places alone but he didn’t have a John. No one aside from his employees would want to spend that much time with him. Sherlock grimaced and remembered the comforting text from a brother who hates to text and sighed. 

“Fine but I’m not dressing up.” Mycroft looked pleased for a hair’s breadth of time and then began walking towards Sherlock’s room. 

“Yes you are, Sherlock. I’ll ready your clothes. 

Sherlock glared at the empty hallway and stalked after Mycroft. By the time it was almost time for John to leave work he felt his phone buzz. With a sigh he set down the pen he was using to finish his paperwork for the day and checked his phone. It was a text from Sherlock. 

-I hate Mycroft. –SH  
-What’d he do now? –JW  
-He is making me attend a dinner event so that he might show off his bloody genius brother. –SH  
-That doesn’t sound too bad. –JW  
-I’m being forced to wear a tuxedo. It is hell. –SH

John’s eyes widened as he read the text. He had no mental image to go along with the idea, but he knew it would be an attractive one. Few people could wear a suit like Sherlock. Realizing he was fantasizing about what Sherlock would look like in a suit John rubbed his hands across his face. Oh this was not good. Not good at all. Either that or it was entirely good and he had no idea which it was. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath John made up his mind to give this experiment a fighting chance and acted on impulse. He texted back. 

-That…that actually sound very…hot. –JW  
-Hot? –SH  
-Yeah. I…uh…I look forward to you coming home so I can see it. –JW  
-I had planned to change in the car. –SH  
-Oh. Must you? I’m really curious now. –JW  
-Fine but what do I get in return? –SH  
-I’ll put on my old fatigues. –JW  
-How do you know I’d like that? –SH  
-First, I look fantastic in them. Second, you got very red at Baskerville when I pulled rank. –JW  
-Damn. Fine. Do I get to touch or must I just look? –SH

Sherlock choked on the water he was sipping as he hit send, earning a glare from Mycroft across the seat of the car they were currently in. Sherlock turned red and realized he had actually typed and hit send on that message. John was equally red as he read it. He felt short of breath and dizzy and entirely out of his depth. He closed his eyes and imagined what it would be like to let Sherlock touch. Would he kiss? Or just explore? John shuddered and knew that this was the perfect opportunity to gauge his reaction to Sherlock. The perfect data point in his experiment. 

-You can touch. –JW  
-I will return home by 8pm…in the tux. –SH

John grinned nervously at his phone and threw his pen down. With the images that were currently in his head he had no hope of actually getting anything else done. Instead he started packing up. If he was eating alone it would mean he could actually get food that he wanted instead of just something he knew Sherlock would consent to eating. He picked up soup and a sandwich from a place he used to go to during med school and headed home. John’s evening became a blur of anxiety. He ate quickly but didn’t finish, his appetite too tarnished by the butterflies that inhabited his stomach. He tried to watch telly but didn’t actually focus on it. After a while he fully gave up and went and put on the fatigues. They still fit; a testament to the amount of running he and Sherlock did on cases. John had to spend a good while digging around his collectables box before he found his dog tags and slipped them around his neck. He trotted back down the stairs and over to the mirror to look at himself.   
It was like a blast from his own past. He saw the man that was so lost and so desperate for a purpose that he signed up for war. Except he was older now. Happier too. John grinned at his reflection and went back to the sofa to work on his blog. That happiness was Sherlock’s doing. John really hoped that his own experiment turned out in Sherlock’s favor. He truly and honestly wanted it to. He jumped a little and stood up quickly when he heard a car pull up outside. He stepped quickly to the window and looked out. It was a nondescript black car without plates. Definitely Mycroft. And there, stepping out of the car was a curly head of black hair he’d recognize anywhere. He took a shaky breath and tried to sit in his chair casually. Yes, he thought, sitting casually that’ll fool anyone. 

The door open and Sherlock stepped quickly into the room. He’d run up the stairs and attempted to slow his steps as he reached the door. In the end it just made his entrance into the flat halting and awkward. But John was too busy quickly standing up and stumbling over his own feet to notice. For a moment they both stared at one another. Sherlock spoke first, his eyebrows raised. 

“Oh…” John blushed under his gaze. 

“Good ‘oh’ or bad ‘oh’?” He fidgeted under Sherlock’s gaze as the taller man moved closer. 

“Good. Very good.” His hand reached out to touch the edge of John’s collar and John took the time to examine Sherlock’s tux and wasn’t able to keep himself smiling. 

“Good ‘oh’ from myself as well. You look so handsome.” Sherlock’s movements stuttered and he blushed under John’s gaze. 

“I am rarely referred to as ‘handsome’” 

“Maybe not to your face. I doubt anyone could not at least think it about you.”

“Now you are just getting confused. That’s probably you they’re speaking of.” Sherlock let his voice drop, trying on, once more, the flirtation he’d learned in the past week. He moved closer and let both his hands come to the top button of John’s fatigues. He paused and looked at the Doctor’s face, waiting for permission to continue. John just paled and nodded. 

“I said you could touch.”

“It is always wise to seek permission first.” Sherlock unbuttoned the shirt slowly. Watching each button slide through its hole before examining the skin revealed by doing so. John felt warm. It was wrong that just having his shirt unbuttoned could affect him so. But this was Sherlock. He never played by the rules. John let out a shaky breath. 

“You never ask permission to do anything.” He intended to sound incredulous but his voice just betrayed his heightened emotions. Sherlock looked up at John and smiled cheekily. 

“Maybe I just like hearing you give me permission to touch you.” John rolled his eyes and sighed. It came out as more of a moan and Sherlock grinned more, tugging the shirt loose from his trousers and pushing it off John’s shoulders and to the floor. His finger immediately went to the scar on his left shoulder. “Beautiful.” John frowned and looked down at Sherlock’s fingers that were mapping the scar tissue. 

“You must not have seen much beauty if that’s what you think is beautiful.” Sherlock shook his head and leaned down to let his lips brush against the rugged skin, peppering it with kisses as he spoke. 

“This is what brought you here, to me. Ergo, it is perhaps the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” John whimpered out a moan and let his right hand slid up into Sherlock’s hair, the left staying still as Sherlock continued to kiss the scar. It wasn’t just the touch that was increasing his heart rate, it was the words. John wasn’t used to feeling handsome. Cute, perhaps. But definitely never beautiful. But in that moment, under Sherlock’s gaze, he felt beautiful for the first time. He smiled. 

“So’re you.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him and moved to walk around him, his hands exploring the exposed skin. John read Sherlock’s skepticism in the raised eyebrow and continued. “You’re perhaps the only man I’ve ever met that’s truly beautiful in a non effeminate way.” He heard Sherlock chuckle behind him. 

“Thank you. I—I think I’m done.” John’s face fell a little and he turned to face Sherlock. 

“Oh?” 

“Indeed. I hope you’ve gained some useful data. Goodnight.” Sherlock stepped forward quickly and pressed a lingering and gentle kiss to John’s lips before disappearing into his bedroom. John stood there for a second, dazed, before picking up his shirt and slowly walking to his bedroom. He’d be taking a hot shower before bed. A long hot shower filled with thoughts to make him never want to identify as heterosexual again.


	5. Friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect one chapter a day for a few more days until they're all up.

Sherlock woke up when his phone beeped at him. It was already light out. He frowned. It was abnormal for him to sleep as well and as much as he had the last few days. It seemed that emotional understanding suited him. Either that or he was so filled with anxiety about John’s emotions that he was wearing himself out worrying. He picked up the phone blearily and checked it. 

-Morning sunshine. –JW

Sherlock chuckled and drug himself out of bed. 

-You woke me up. I see nothing good about it. –SH  
-You were still asleep? –JW  
-Indeed. –SH  
-How were you able to sleep after last night? –JW  
-Well it’s a complicated and difficult process that involves getting into a bed and closing your eyes. –SH  
-Oh ha ha. You know what I mean. Took me a long hot shower and some staring at a wall thinking before I could even consider sleeping. –JW

Sherlock flushed. John had masturbated after their interaction. It should not make him feel so pleased, but it did. 

-Did you receive some useful data? –SH  
-Heaps. I thought maybe I’d get more tonight. –JW  
-Oh? –SH  
-Take away and a film. How’s that sound? –JW  
-Agreeable. –SH  
-Maybe I’ll pick up some wine too. –JW

Sherlock went to type out a reply and ended up just staring at his phone. He wanted that. He wanted a romantic evening. He wanted everything with John. After all it had only been two nights ago that he’d loudly proclaimed his love. But something was stopping Sherlock. A gripping fear clutched his hear. What if John didn’t end up feeling the same? What if John romanced him and tried it on but decided he didn’t like it all? Could Sherlock deal with that? He typed on his phone. 

-No. –SH  
-No? –JW  
-Yes. Wine is too romantic. –SH  
-Sherlock, that’s the point. –JW  
-I know. However, this is the first time I’ve ever felt this way about someone. And you are not sure of your feelings. I know that if we go about this and begin to act as a romantically involved couple and then you come to the conclusion that you do not love me, I will not be able to handle it. I cannot allow myself to begin this if I cannot finish it. –SH

John stared at the text. He felt his heart breaking that he wasn’t able to just tell Sherlock he loved him back. But he wasn’t sure. He needed to think about it. He needed time. Just a little. John sighed and leaned back in his desk chair. It bloody sucked being an adult some times. This was one of those times. 

-Okay. I understand. –JW  
-Thank you. –SH 

Sherlock paced around and ate breakfast, pestered Lestrade, and checked the blogs. It only ended up killing a few hours and his text to John was still nagging at his head. He felt guilty for feeling the way he did. Poor John was subject to anything Sherlock wanted to do to experiment on him, but here Sherlock was tailoring and limiting John’s experiment. It prevented the accumulation of accurate data. It wasn’t very scientific. 

-I’m sorry. –SH

John nearly dropped his phone when he read the text. Sherlock never apologized for anything. Now he finally decides to do so and it’s over something he shouldn’t even be apologizing for. John rolled his eyes and sighed. 

-You’ve nothing to apologize for. You’re allowed to have feelings. –JW  
-But it will skew your data. –SH  
-No it won’t. Letting me know how you feel is the data I want and need. –JW  
-Oh. Then I should tell you I’m terrified. –SH  
-Terrified? Oh…yes Moriarty’s old nickname for you. –JW  
-No, John, not that. I’m a man who values knowledge. Do you really think I’d allow such a gap in my knowledge? Especially when sex is often a motivator for crimes? –SH  
-Oh. Sorry. I just assumed. –JW  
-No that. No. I’m terrified if your feelings in this equation. You are the closest friend I’ve ever had and I am consumed with the fear that I’ve ruined it. –SH  
-Sherlock you haven’t ruined anything. –JW  
-You said you wished to know how I feel. –SH  
-It’s going to be alright. –JW

John stared blankly at the papers in front of him. Sherlock had had sex before. That was shocker number one. Shocker number two was Sherlock being so open about his emotions. It was unnerving to say the least. But it was also something Sherlock had done to a lesser extent with John for quite some time now. 

-Would it help if I tell you how my experiment is going? –JW  
-I don’t want it to compromise the data, but yes, I’d like to know. –SH  
-I don’t know if I love you. But I sure as hell fancy you. –JW

¬Sherlock smiled at his phone. It wasn’t hopeless. His step took on a bounce as he left the flat to check for any unnoticed crimes with the homeless network. He pulled out his phone to send off a reply. 

-If you tell Lestrade or Mycroft that I was emotionally open I will kill you in your sleep. –SH  
-And there’s the Sherlock I’m used to. –JW  
-I’m serious. –SH  
-I won’t. I promise. I should actually finish my paperwork, though, so I can leave on time and pick up dinner. –JW  
-Fine. I’ll pick the film. –SH

John rolled his eyes. It never ended well when Sherlock picked the title.

After an afternoon of work consumed John’s mind. When he left the office he called Angelo’s and placed their usual order to go. Even when Sherlock had been gone John had always gotten the usual order from their favorite places. He’d put Sherlock’s food in the fridge and eat it the next day. It made him feel less lonely. Consequently, John always smiled a bit wider when he picked up food and knew that both orders would be eaten that night. With a bit of a spring in his step still, John ran up the stairs. 

“Sherlock? You pick out a film?” Sherlock was sitting on the sofa with John’s laptop open in his lap. 

“Indeed. I think you’ll be pleased.” John sighed as he walked closer and set the take away down on the coffee table that Sherlock had already laid for dinner. 

“Really, Sherlock? My laptop? Why do you always use mine?”

“Well mine is in the bedroom but, moreover,” he grinned, “I consider it a bit of a game to figure out your newest password.” John stared for a moment and sighed before sitting on the couch next to Sherlock and snatching his laptop back. He wasn’t actually angry but he still glared at Sherlock. 

“Twat.” He set Sherlock’s take away container in front of him and opened his own, getting ready to dig in. All of this, sitting on the sofa together and eating take away in front of the telly, it was entirely normal and comfortable. John loved that. Even if it was technically part of the experiment, it was normalcy for them. “So what are we watching?” Sherlock grinned proudly and pulled his food into his lap so he could sit back and eat. 

“Goldeneye.”

“Really?” John stared at Sherlock, shocked. James Bond films were his favorites but Sherlock never seemed to enjoy them. He always favored bland documentaries or educational programs. Sherlock just smiled a little and looked to his food. 

“I thought you’d like it.”

“I mean…yes! It’s my absolute favorite movie of all time ever.”

“I know that. It’s why I chose it.”

“But will you enjoy it?”

“If you promise to not get annoyed when I comment on the parts that are wrong, yes.” John considered it. He did hate Sherlock’s incessant commentary, but he’s picked John’s favorite film. It was actually really rather sweet. So this was the least he could to for Sherlock. 

“Okay.” He nodded and went back to eating. Sherlock clicked the film on and leaned back to eat as well. John ate most of his food and got up to deal with the clean up. Sherlock only ate about half his food but that was a good meal for him. He tossed Sherlock’s food in the fridge and his scraps in the trash. When he came back to the sitting room he paused. Normally at this point in time Sherlock would move to his own chair or would stretch out and take the sofa for himself. But Sherlock was sitting there still. He paused the film and looked to John. 

“Problem?”

“No. Just not used to you willingly sharing the sofa.” Sherlock shrugged as John sat back down. 

“I merely thought that perhaps we could add more data to your experiment.” John’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Oh?”

“Indeed.” Sherlock raised John’s arm and slid his body underneath it, tucking his knees to the other side so he could rest his head on John’s shoulder. John blushed a little and let his hand settle on Sherlock’s waist. He frowned and pressed his hand down, feeling. 

“Are those your ribs? You need to eat more.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

“I eat plenty.”

“I still worry.” He let his thumb rub against Sherlock’s side and when he was rewarded with a contented sigh, he kept doing it. Sherlock unpaused the film and, now that he was done eating, took up shouting at the film. Usually it was just ‘wrong’ or some brief statement about it being inaccurate. Every once and a while he would go on a tangent. 

“Oh come now as if that is reasonable. If she were to die in that manner she wouldn’t look like that. This is just spreading of misinformation!” His head was still on John’s shoulder but he was gesticulating wildly. John laughed at his passion and, without thinking, turned and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead, letting his hand start to play with Sherlock’s dark curls. 

“You should write a strongly worded letter.”

“Indeed.” Sherlock wasn’t thinking about the film anymore. His entire consciousness was existing in the cells on his forehead where John had just kissed him. It had been so natural. So easy. So much everything that he’d come to accept he desired. He let his head rest heavier against John’s shoulder, enjoying the hand in his hair. He was so busy thinking that he stopped watching and commenting on the film. John had noticed. 

“You okay?”

“Hmm? Yes, why?”

“You stopped yelling at James Bond.”

“Oh. My mind was on something else.” John sighed. Sherlock always made it so hard to speak with him. 

“Okay…well then what was your mind on?”

“Your hand in my hair.” John’s hand stilled. 

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t even realize I was doing it.”

“Please don’t stop. I was rather enjoying it.” Sherlock admitted with a slight blush. John smiled and returned to what he was doing. Before long the film was over and they were left in an awkward silence, Sherlock still under John’s arm. He sighed and stood up. John looked up at him, slightly anxious. 

“Well then. Did you have a good time?”

“Very much so. Goodnight, John.” 

“Goodnight.” John smiled. Before he could realize what was happening Sherlock had leaned down and begun to kiss John. John let his hand slide up into Sherlock’s hair and tried to hold him there. Sherlock reached up and removed the hand, pulling back. He smiled and stood up. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that he fled to his bedroom to sleep. John sat on the couch for a few minutes before sighing and going to his room. He actually fell asleep quickly that night. The sitting on the couch—cuddling—it had been strangely comforting. He curled up and fell asleep thinking about what it would feel like to sleep with Sherlock in his arms. Sherlock, however, was filled with anxiety. He came back to the sitting room and ate the rest of his food. He wasn’t hungry but it was for John. He sat and worried about the evening. It had felt so right to be in John’s arms. It had felt so natural. It physically hurt him to go to a separate room and he didn’t know if he could keep it up. It was too much. He ended up falling asleep in John’s chair.


	6. Saturday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating increased due to this chapter.

John woke up and stumbled downstairs, feeling well rested for the first time all week. He groggily rubbed a hand through his hair and smiled at what he found in the sitting room. Sherlock was curled up asleep in what was always John’s chair. The empty carton from his take away was on the floor next to his chair and John’s laptop was there too. He picked both up and went to throw the empty container away. When he turned around he saw Sherlock standing in the kitchen too. He grinned. 

“Morning Sherlock.” Sherlock just nodded and shuffled to his room. He returned a few minutes later, fully dressed, while John was making tea. “Do you want some tea? Sherlock?” Sherlock had walked past him without even glancing up so he followed him into the sitting room, worried. Sherlock clenched his fists and sighed. 

“I’m going out.” He began to pull his coat on. John frowned. 

“Okay. Is something wrong?”

“No, I’m just going out.”

Sherlock slipped out the door and began to walk aimlessly. John watched him head down the street and frowned. Sherlock almost never walked. He preferred cabs. Something wasn’t right and if even John could see it, then it must be severe. He picked up his phone. Sherlock preferred texting. Maybe he’d be more willing to talk via text. 

-Something’s wrong. What is it? –JW  
-I can’t continue the experiment. –SH  
-Why? –JW  
-I am emotionally unable to continue. –SH  
-What does that mean? –JW  
-What does that mean!? –SH  
-It means that I’ve spent my whole life never believing myself capable of feeling actual love and then suddenly I wake up and it’s consumed me! –SH  
-I’m terrified because I told you and I do not share emotions but moreover I’m terrified because you will not and should not feel the same. I’m broken and damaged and not going to act any different than normal so I’ll be a horrible person to be romantically involved with. –SH  
-But I thought. I mean you said you loved me. –JW  
-And I do but it hurts. It physically hurts to sit there, in your arms, and to know that I won’t get to continue it. It made me feel physically ill to think about not kissing you goodnight in the future. So if you’re going to reach any conclusions about your emotions you will have to do it on your own. I can’t take it anymore. –SH  
-But Sherlock, I finished the experiment. –JW  
-Ah. Yes. I understand. –SH  
-No you don’t. Sherlock, come back here. –JW  
-Why? So you can tell me what I already know?! –SH  
-No you clod, so I can tell you that I’m ready to do this for real. –JW  
-John, I’m not in for a bit of dating on the side. With the way I feel, and have felt, it’s forever or not at all. So you’re really not ready. It’s okay. You don’t have to force it. –SH  
-Sherlock Holmes stop thinking you know how I feel! –JW  
-I know it’s forever. So come home. –JW

It had broken John’s heart to see Sherlock so broken. So desperately vulnerable. John had already come to his decision this morning. When he saw Sherlock in his chair it felt right. John had imagined not having Sherlock there. Having someone else sleeping in his favorite chair to feel closer to him. In that moment, imagining another person, a woman, laying where Sherlock was laying, John knew he would do anything to stay with Sherlock forever. And not just in a platonic way. He wanted to wake up next to him. He wanted to smell Sherlock’s shampoo on the sheets. He wanted to know that no matter what happened he has his very best friend to come home to. And that, by John’s definition, was love. Real love. Not just a flash in the pan, let’s shag ‘till we drop, love. 

Sherlock had looked at the text and turned on his heel, rushing home. He had no way to be certain but it seemed that John felt the same. The mere thought made Sherlock’s heart soar in a way that should have disconcerted him. In fact the mere thought that he could be so affected by another individual should have made him panic and run as he always did when he inadvertently formed a social bond. But he didn’t want to run. He wished only to return to John and never leave again. He burst into the flat and stood there awkwardly. John was no where to be seen. 

“John?!” Sherlock’s anxiety caused him to yell. John stuck his head out of the kitchen and smiled. 

“Yeah. I’m here.” 

“So…you concluded your experiment?” Sherlock stood there awkwardly, his coat draped over his arm from where he’d taken it off coming up the stairs but been too preoccupied to actually hang it up. John just smiled and walked into the room with two cups of tea. 

“Yeah. Set your coat down and have a cuppa.” He set the cups on the coffee table and perched on the sofa. Sherlock tossed his coat onto John’s chair and fell onto the couch next to John, his eyes wide. 

“So?” John couldn’t help but grin at his eagerness. 

“So…I don’t know. I’m terrible with words so I can’t really say it. I mean. I’ve known for quite some time that I really fancy you—” he was cut off by Sherlock groaning and putting his head in his hands. 

“Not enough! I can’t have a maybe. I can’t let you go once I’ve got you!”

“Yes but—”

“No but. No qualifiers. John I thought I’d made that clear and now you’ve just raised my hopes to dash them!” He was starting to yell, his genuine anger bubbled to the surface. John felt his own temper rising too. 

“Will you just shut up I’m trying to tell you I want forever!” Sherlock looked up from his hands, his eyes wide again. 

“You…forever?”

“Yes you daft git. I want forever. With you. Because I bloody well love you.” 

“Me?” Sherlock seemed to be suffering from shock as his face was ghostly white and his eyes wide. John smiled and pressed a hand to Sherlock’s cheek. 

“Yes you. It’s always been you I’ve just been too daft to notice.”

“Oh.”

“Good ‘oh’ or bad ‘oh’?” John was grinning a little. Sherlock just smiled wryly and leaned forward, bringing their lips together. John sighed and slid his hand into Sherlock’s hair. He tilted his head a little more and opened his mouth a little as he gently kissed Sherlock, letting his tongue taste Sherlock’s lip. Sherlock let his hands wander to John’s arms as he hesitantly parted his lips and brought his tongue forward to meet John’s. Not only had it been a while since he’d snogged anyone, but there was always a learning curve with a new partner, so Sherlock ignored when their teeth bumped and just readjusted when his nose pressed so firmly into John’s cheek that he couldn’t breathe. Once they found a bit of a rhythm John’s hands tightened in Sherlock’s hair and the tone of the kiss changed. It stopped being exploratory. The motion of their tongues and lips became more heated, more possessive, and John felt himself being pushed back until he was lying on the couch with Sherlock kneeling between his legs. 

A small moan escaped the back of his throat as he pulled Sherlock’s full lower lip into his mouth and Sherlock lowered his body to lie atop John. The noise seemed to jumpstart Sherlock’s brain and in an instant he was gone, standing a few feet from the couch with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. John sat up, a bit confused. 

“Why’d you go?” He looked at Sherlock, genuinely worried something was the matter or he’d somehow done something wrong. Sherlock just shook his head and sat back on the couch next to John, seeing the worry in the doctor’s eyes. 

“You did nothing wrong. Quite the opposite, in truth. I lost myself in your kiss.” He blushed and John grinned. 

“That tends to be the point. I though you knew that.” Sherlock shrugged. 

“This is true. I am not without sexual knowledge. But it has always been a purely physical arrangement so there has been no pretense about emotions. No need for respect. Just a sexual interaction.”

“And you didn’t want it to be that way with us.” John nodded. Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

“No, John, don’t be an idiot. That is an impossibility due to our mutual emotional declarations. I merely have the lingering fears from this week. I need to deal with the concept that you will not disappear in the night so that I wake up to an empty bed and an empty flat.” John nodded and reached out to push Sherlock’s hair out of his face. 

“Okay. Take all the time you need. I’ll still be here.” Sherlock smiled at him and cautiously removed the hand that was fussing with his hair and, instead, laced their fingers. 

“Why don’t you get dressed and we can go out for breakfast? Or, in truth, be the time you shower and dress and we agree upon a restaurant it will be lunch time.” John smiled and squeezed Sherlock’s hand before dropping it to stand, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead as he did so. 

“Sounds perfect. I’ll be back.” 

When John returned showered and dressed in jeans and a soft jumper he found Sherlock hadn’t moved at all. He was still sitting on the sofa staring awkwardly into space. John cleared his throat and Sherlock jumped, turning his head to look at him. John grinned at Sherlock. 

“Deep in thought?” Sherlock smiled and stood up. He walked close to John and softly kissed him before moving to fetch his coat from the chair where he’d thrown it earlier. 

“I was.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I was attempting to identify the moment where you began to harbor feelings for me even if you were not consciously aware of them.” John pulled on his coat as well and headed down the stairs with Sherlock following close behind. 

“Oh. Well you should have just asked. Because I can tell you that much.” He took Sherlock’s hand once they reached the street and started to lead them towards the part of town that had all their regular places to eat. Sherlock may not usually enjoy walking but John loved it and so on weekends Sherlock often indulged John and they would walk. 

“So then when was it? Because the only time I could potentially identify would be when you shot the cabbie but that was far too early in our knowing one another.” John chuckled. 

“No it was in the pool. It’s a bit of a tie between when I walked out and you thought I was the bomber—”

“Good God, that was horrid when you walked out and started speaking.”

“So between that and when I grabbed Moriarty and told you to run and then the sniper sights moved to you.” Sherlock nodded and looked at his feet as he walked. 

“Were you ever consciously aware of your feelings after…the Bart’s incident?” John frowned sadly. 

“Yeah. Didn’t have a name for it but I knew something was there.” Sherlock squeezed John’s hand and sighed. He still had so much guilt over what he had done to John. 

“I remain deeply sorry for what I did.”

“I know. But I’ve forgiven you. Sooner or later you need to forgive yourself.”

“When you are as happy for six months as you are in this moment, then I shall forgive myself.” John couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head. 

“Okay. Deal.” He looked down at their joined hands. “Oh. I meant to ask. What’s your stance on public displays of affection?”

“If tongues are involved it’s classless and tawdry, but I see no reason why couples shouldn’t be allowed to hold on to one another whilst walking or exchange the odd kiss.”

“I meant us.”

“The same social rules would logically apply to us as well.”

“I meant at work. On cases. Hell, even around Mrs. Hudson. You’re a weirdly private man and I don’t want to cross a line.” Sherlock frowned and looked over at John as he continued to walk and think. After almost a minute of silence and an unnerving gaze he nodded. 

“If I intend for this to be a permanent fixture in my life which, after knowing you for as long as I have, I do, then I must be willing for others to know. Mrs. Hudson will be thrilled so I’d never hide it from her. And as for Lestrade and the Yard, those that would care will either be pleased because they are our friends, or will be horrified and either way that will give me satisfaction.” John laughed. 

“You intend to traumatize Anderson, don’t you?” Sherlock grinned down at him. 

“Very much so.”

After a bit of bickering they settled on a café for dinner, talking and behaving during their meal like normal. In fact their entire day was strikingly average for them. The only difference was that whenever they found themselves en route hands were held, or Sherlock draped his arm across John’s shoulders, John’s arm finding a home around Sherlock’s waist. A few times one or the other was overcome with emotions and a kiss was initiated, but it was always comfortable and easy going. John began to wonder why everyone didn’t become best mates and live with their romantic interest for years before initiating a relationship. It made things simpler. The only time it became awkward once more was after dinner. They’d sat on the sofa and cuddled during a few science programs Sherlock had recorded. After a slow and long bit of snogging, John had yawned and stood up. 

“I’m bushed. I think it’s time I got some sleep.” Sherlock stood as well and shut off the telly. 

“Indeed. I’m a bit tired as well.”

“Goodnight Sherlock.” John kissed him and started for the stairs as Sherlock turned towards his own room. Sherlock paused and looked down at his bare feet. 

“You could…you could always join me.” John looked up and slowly walked back over to Sherlock. 

“Yeah. That’d be nice. I’d love to be able to hold you close all night.” He blushed a little. Sherlock fidgeted. 

“No. I mean finish what we started this morning.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. My fear that you were not capable of feeling for me as I feel for you overcame me and I panicked. But I…I’d very much like to finish.” John reached out and took Sherlock’s hand, pulling him forward until he could look up at Sherlock. 

“I’d very much like that.” Sherlock smiled and hesitantly leaned down to kiss John. After only a moment John let his fingers trail into Sherlock’s hair and he parted his lips to let his tongue graze along Sherlock’s mouth. The consulting detective seemed to learn the patterns and cues that were John’s habit and preference of kissing quickly, as his tongue was met with an instantaneous shifting of Sherlock’s mouth so that the kiss could become deeper. Gone were the frequent, gentle, and languid kisses of the day. Returned was the ferocity of the morning. Sherlock let his hands wrap tightly around John’s waist and soon he felt himself being pulled back towards Sherlock’s bedroom. John smiled until the kiss broke due to his grin. 

“My. Aren’t we zealous?” Sherlock huffed in response. 

“John, it’s been five years since I’ve had any sexual contact with someone other than myself. I believe the word you are searching for is not zealous, but is randy.” John could only chuckle and pull Sherlock back down for another kiss. In a few steps more he felt himself being pressed against the wall of Sherlock’s bedroom, the long fingers of the taller man finding their way under his jumper. John grinned and stripped the garment away, letting his own hands work at the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt. When he was able to shove it away he let his mouth descend on Sherlock’s neck. That obscene neck. Sherlock groaned and scraped his teeth along John’s shoulder. 

The fire and possessiveness that hid deep in John flared and he pushed Sherlock towards the bed until they both tumbled onto it awkwardly. Sherlock grunted and shifted so that he wasn’t being pinched under John. John as well had fallen with Sherlock’s hip in his groin which served to undo any erection their kissing had brought on. John only smiled. The first time in bed with someone was always like this. It was awkward and halting and strange but it was always a surprise. And this time was with Sherlock. As they scooted to lay on the bed properly John started to kiss his way along Sherlock’s collarbones and shoulders, indulging in a few sucking kisses that would leave marks far below his collar. Sherlock responded with a breathy gasp and a roll of the hips that reminded them both what their current purpose was. 

As John moved to kiss Sherlock again, Sherlock’s fingers found the front of John’s jeans. Fumbling and with much desperation he got them unbuttoned and unzipped so that he might slide his hands under the waistband of both jeans and pants to grab John’s bum, pulling their hips together. John pulled his mouth back to grunt as his body responded to Sherlock’s every touch and sound. 

“Jesus, Sherlock. Has anyone ever told you that everything you do is erotic?” Sherlock chuckled deeply and flexed his hands again, earning another moan. 

“No. But then again I’m not usually one for much in the way of foreplay.”

“Well you’re doing a smashing job. I’m a few good ruts from soiling my pants like a teenager.” Sherlock grinned at the compliment and moved to nibble at John’s shoulder again. He found he liked that skin. It had so many textures. He thought he could spend hours memorizing the texture and taste of the shoulder as well as the scar. In fact, he might at a different time. As it was John had gotten his trousers undone and was tugging both his trousers and pants away. Sherlock smiled then awkwardly blushed a little. While John was near coming in his pants, Sherlock was still only half hard. Thought, John didn’t seem to care as he was biting his lip as he returned his mouth to Sherlock’s. “Beautiful. You’re fucking beautiful.” Sherlock gasped and shoved at John’s jeans and pants. 

“Only under your gaze.” John sat up to tug off the last of his clothes and regarded Sherlock. 

“What?” Sherlock blushed. 

“I mean that to most I’m a freak or strange or something of the sort. But to you I’m beautiful. And when you look at me like you just did…what others say and how I myself behave is no longer relevant. In that moment when you looked at me, I was beautiful. Perhaps for the first time in my life.” John shook his head and tossed his jeans aside, keeping his pants close as they’d be necessary for cleanup. 

“God, even you just talking is erotic. I love you, Sherlock, I really do.” He kissed Sherlock and hovered his body above the taller man’s. Sherlock slid his hands around John’s back and sighed contentedly. 

“And I love you. So very much.” Sherlock craned his neck up to kiss John deeply and passionately, their tongues sliding along one another’s. Sherlock even took the time to count each of John’s teeth before he allowed his hands to wander. While his own arousal might still be struggling from the lack of contact, John seemed to be sustaining himself on kissing and anticipation alone. Sherlock wrapped his long fingers around John’s cock and gave a tentative squeeze. John’s eyes shot open and his head dropped to Sherlock’s shoulder as he grunted. Sherlock grinned and slowly slid his hand down and back up, letting his thumb graze along John’s slit. As he moved to repeat his motion John gasped and cried out Sherlock’s name before coming across Sherlock’s stomach. Sherlock froze, his eyes wide. John blushed. 

“Oh God. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. That…I…” he started to move away. Sherlock only chuckled and used both hands to hold his hips steady as he kissed along John’s cheeks and face. 

“Hush. I’ve never received such a compliment. Merely being near me was enough to have you undone.” John nodded and sat back a little to grab his pants and wipe off Sherlock’s stomach before the mess dried into a sticky, semniferous, glue. He frowned even deeper when he saw that Sherlock wasn’t even fully hard.

“God. I’ve come like a teenager during their first time and you’re not even properly up. I’m sorry.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed. 

“If you’d stop apologizing and do something about it then we could both lay here in a post coital bliss and smile.” John looked up at Sherlock, a little shocked. He grinned slowly and leaned forward to press a kiss to Sherlock’s collar bone. He let his kisses trail wetly down Sherlock’s chest. When he reached his hip he took the time to suck and bite another bruise into existence there. This seemed to have done the trick as Sherlock was now gasping and his hips kept twitching against the hand that John had rested on Sherlock’s upper thigh. He paused for a moment. 

“I’ve never been on this end of a blow job before so…bear with me okay?” Sherlock twitched and grunted. 

“Shut up and use your mouth for something better if that’s what you intend to do.” John grinned. That was his Sherlock. Ever snappy and demanding. John grinned and let his hand close around Sherlock’s length. Not any longer than himself, but a bit wider, John mentally prepared himself for this. He knew the taste would be fine. He’d never had an issue kissing a woman after they did this for him. But mostly it was the logistics that he worried about. He took a breath and decided to act on instinct, letting his tongue slide out to taste the bead of precum that had formed. Sherlock gasped and buried a hand in John’s hair. That was a good sign. Spurred on and confident, John trailed his tongue along the bottom of Sherlock’s shaft before moving to slip Sherlock’s cock inside his mouth. He kept his tongue over his bottom teeth. He knew from experience that this was best. John was suddenly grateful for his had at the base as it decreased the length and made it easy for him to stimulate all of Sherlock without gagging himself. 

John began to gently bob his head, letting his hand slide up and down to follow his mouth. Sherlock continued to groan and whimper beneath him. John kept up his rhythm, speeding up slowly. He was beginning to wonder if it was normal for there to be so much saliva everywhere. His hand and most of his face were damp with it but it made the moving easier. Just as he was beginning to wonder about this and realize his jaw was getting tired he felt Sherlock’s grip tighten. 

“John now is when I give you warning so that you might move off if you so desire to do so as I am very near orgasm.” John couldn’t help but chuckle in his throat. Only Sherlock could be so verbose during sex. The chuckle was just enough to send Sherlock over the edge. He held John’s hair tightly and came as John swallowed quickly and continued his movement until Sherlock stilled. He removed his mouth and wiped the saliva away before he paused near Sherlock’s mouth, wondering if it would be taboo to kiss him. Sherlock removed any doubts he had by kissing him wetly and tiredly. John rolled onto the bed next to Sherlock and sighed. 

“Wow.” Sherlock turned and curled around John so that their legs were tangled and arms were around one another. 

“That is an entirely inadequate word. There are no suitable words.” John laughed and felt his fatigue setting in as his eyelids drooped. 

“Well I’d have said ‘let’s do that again’ but I’m too old for that. So wow will have to suffice.” Sherlock smiled tiredly and pressed his face into John’s neck as John pulled the sheets over them, their sweat cooling and body head dissipating. 

“Mmm. You’re not old. We can purchase some personal lubricant and then you may penetrate me until you no longer feel old.” 

“That was the least sexy way of saying that and yet I’m turned on.” Sherlock smiled against John’s skin. 

“Stay here.”

“I’d planned on it seeing as how I’m shagged out and naked.”

“No, I mean move your things from the upstairs room to here.” John leaned his head back to look at Sherlock. 

“Yeah?” Sherlock opened his eyes and looked up at him, nodded, and then tiredly pressed his face back against John. 

“Yes. I wish to fall asleep like this every night. Even if we do not engage in coitus.”

“I’d like that very much.” John settled back against Sherlock and felt his eyelids closing of their own accord. 

“I love you, John.” John smiled and kissed Sherlock’s hair. 

“I love you too, Sherlock.”

John sighed and fell asleep to the sound of Sherlock’s breathing evening out.


	7. Sunday

Sherlock actually slept through the night. No insomnia. No dreams. No boredom. When he woke he was splayed out across the bed on his stomach, his usual sleeping position. He was aware of foreign bits of weight over random parts of his body. He raised his head sleepily and looked to find John was splayed across the bed as well. Consequently a great deal of John’s body was on top of Sherlock’s. For some reason the sight of them both sharing a bed but sleeping in the same way they did when they slept alone struck Sherlock as funny and he began to giggle into his pillow. The movement woke John who frowned and stretched, moving so that he was curled against Sherlock’s side. 

“Mmmm. Mornin’” Sherlock turned and faced John. 

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?” John nodded and yawned again. 

“Like a baby. And I usually get cold when I sleep starkers. You must produce a lot of heat.” Sherlock shrugged and pulled John closer. 

“Perhaps. I do tend to sleep in the nude myself and I’m never cold.” John opened his eyes and smiled up at Sherlock. 

“Hello, my handsome…” he frowned, “what exactly are we?” Sherlock shrugged. 

“I do not really care. What are the term options that you find suitable?”

“Well boyfriends, partners, lovers. Those are the most common ones.” Sherlock wrinkled his nose. 

“Boyfriends is juvenile, partners is overused and often politically charged, and lovers is tawdry. Are those truly our only options?” John chuckled. 

“You made up a profession for yourself, make up a name for us.” Sherlock frowned in thought. 

“What about the simple possessive modifier? You are my own. You are my John. And I am yours. Your Sherlock.” John grinned and kissed Sherlock. 

“I like it.”

“Good. Now hand me my mobile it was beeping earlier.” John rolled over and reached off the side of the bed to dig Sherlock’s mobile out of the pocket of his flannel trousers. He tossed it over his shoulder to Sherlock and laid back on his back, stretching as Sherlock scooted closer to rest his head on John’s shoulder. He chuckled and John looked down at him. 

“What’s funny?”

“Mycroft says congratulations.”

“Oh God.”

“Oh, and we have a case.”

“Good. We can traumatize the Yard.” Sherlock grinned at John. Two showers and a few cups of tea later, Sherlock and John were walking towards a group of cars and officers that were around the crime scene. Sherlock reached out for John’s hand and grinned as they approached Sally. 

“Come now, pookie. We have crimes to solve.” John just blushed and rolled his eyes. Sherlock winked at him and tugged him along. “Oh and don’t forget that we need to buy lube on the way home. You promised to fuck me into the bed.” John blushed harder as Sherlock grinned wider. John could only shake his head as people turned to stare and those they knew walked forward, prepared to bombard them with questions. He knew he needed to get used to it. This is what it was going to be like. The rest of his life, with Sherlock. Always walking a fine line between utter hell and paradise. John couldn’t help but feel giddy at the prospect. To him it sounded like heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks! Leave me comments, let me know what you thought. I think I'm going to start a Mystrade fic in a similar genre next.


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